


This Is Very Unsafe

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Series: 12 Days of Dethmas 2020 [5]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: 12 Days of Dethmas, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: Nathan had been thinking—a dangerous pastime, he knew, but it was either that or drink until he literally vomited out all the weird feelings swimming around in his guts, and that was a no-go because he’d already tried that.
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Charles Foster Offdensen
Series: 12 Days of Dethmas 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055183
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	This Is Very Unsafe

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No Time Like The Present](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174642) by [murderofonerose (atmilliways)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose). 



> **Dec 17 - Putting up decorations!**
> 
> It's always nagged at me that I drew this like 10 years ago and never wrote fic for the actual scene. (Follow-up post DSR fic that I did already write is linked at the bottom though.)

Nathan had been thinking—a dangerous pastime, he knew, but it was either that or drink until he literally vomited out all the weird feelings swimming around in his guts, and that was a no-go because he’d already tried that. Charles had given him a disapproving look for needing another liver transplant again so soon. That look, weeks later, still haunted Nathan. 

The problem was that Charles _was_ the problem. 

Ever since he’d died, Nathan had been drowning in trying to remember how the guy ran everything, hoping to somehow manage Dethklok himself and avoid replacing someone who, it turned out, was really fucking irreplaceable. _No one else_ had any right to sit behind that desk, although Nathan had done it in the hopes of channeling some latent CFO wisdom to try and get his band out of the hole they’d dug themselves into. 

Then, poof, Charles had turned out to be not dead after all. But nine months of drowning didn’t just go away; ever since their manager’s return, Nathan had felt as though he’d crawled from a bottomless ocean into a desert and now, ironically, was dying of thirst.

He’d been thinking, and thinking, and then thinking some more. He’d acted out by dating Trindle, to see if Charles would have any sort of reaction, but if he did then that was one hell of a poker face. After the explosion at Klokikon and taking approximately one hundred showers, Nathan had come to the conclusion that what he’d _really_ liked about Trindle (aside from the rockin’ tits) was that she’d wrapped her entire life and identity around him—something hadn’t even begun to occur to until he’d grabbed an offered hand for help up the last couple rungs into the dethkopter, looked up, and realized that the hand he held was Charles’.

Every day, all the time, Charles was there. His life revolved around Dethklok so literally that he’d died and then come back from the dead for them. The only reason Nathan had let go of his hand was because his bandmates were right on his ass trying to climb to safety too, and he had to get out of the way. 

The whole thing had caught him by surprise. For one thing, Charles did _not_ have rockin’ tits.

After much reflection, he’d come to the conclusion that maybe that wasn’t such a dealbreaker. He was starting to get that feeling around the guy, like back in high school when he’d had a crush on the head cheerleader and whenever he tried to talk to her he either went non-verbal or everything came out sounding angry and sullen. 

So . . . he had a crush on his manager. Great. 

And it was driving him fucking nuts. Did Charles even like guys? If he didn’t, would he make an exception for Nathan Explosion? If he did, was Nathan Explosion even his type? Nathan liked to think that he was everyone’s type, being famous and all . . . but that wasn’t likely to impress a man who’d held his hair back while he puked blood onto yet another operating room floor after lying about when he’d last eaten _again_. 

But Christmas was coming up, and the holiday season was all about having a good time with the people you didn’t hate being around and making . . . fond memories and cookies and shit. As tongue-tied and stupid as Nathan always felt around Charles now, surely the holiday could offer something to talk to him about. Even if it was just about—

“Christmas decorations,” Charles repeated. His right eyebrow eased upwards a fraction of an inch. 

“Yeah,” Nathan growled in confirmation, standing firmly in the manager’s office. “All over the Haus.”

“What kind—”

“All of them. All kinds.”

“. . . Okay. All kinds of decorations.” Charles made a note on the legal pad on his desk. “Live greenery or artificial?”

Nathan barely avoided saying ‘ _Huh?_ ’ out loud, because he hadn’t actually anticipated any questions. He scowled hard as he thought faster than he’d ever thought before in his life. “Uhhh . . . live.”

“Alright, I’ll have a team of Klokateers—”

“No _I’ll_ do it. I’ll tell them what to get, I know what Christmas looks like,” Nathan snapped, and wondered why he kept interrupting. Fuck. Charles was probably getting real annoyed somewhere behind that poker face. 

Charles paused, then put his pen down. “I, ah, didn’t mean to imply that you don’t.”

“Well . . . good.” Nathan crossed his arms and shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling like he should say more in order to not sound like such a jackass. “Uh, I’ll take care of the live stuff. You can do the rest, if you want.”

“Hm.” With an unreadable expression, Charles picked the pen back up. “I’m assuming you’d like the same as previous years, then? Everything in red, black, and silver?”

Nathan nodded. “And lots of candles this time,” he added, because candles were romantic and shit. Made for good mood lighting and creepy shadows. 

“Lots of candles. Right.” Charles wrote that down too. His eyes flicked up to Nathan again. “Anything else?”

That’s when Nathan’s voice decided to desert him again, and he shook his head. He left shortly after, tugging his dethphone out of his pocket and searching ‘live Christmas decorations’ since he’d just fucking given himself _that_ job. The conversation hadn’t even been worth it, all he’d done was snap at Charles again. Scowling, he thumbed through the search results and found pretty much what he’d expected. 

Evergreens, ugh. Sure. 

Pinecones, painful with thrown. Acceptable. 

Logs. At least those could get set on fire. 

Cinnamon sticks? No, Pickles would get drunk, try to eat them, and then whine about cinnamon buns.

Holly, fuck no. Not since that year Murderface had tried to make “homemade cranberry sauce.”

. . . Mistletoe. 

A slow grin spread across Nathan’s broad face. _Mistletoe._ He could work with that. 

* * *

By the start of the week before Christmas, everything was in place. Mordhaus was practically dripping with evergreen garlands and there was a dedicated contingent of Klokateers in charge of going around and making sure all the candles were either relit or replaced the moment they burned out, round the clock. In the pre-noon hours before the rest of the band was awake, at Nathan’s signal, the mistletoe was hoisted over the living room hot tub with care. 

This took several Klokateers to accomplish, as Nathan had decided that mistletoe, a parasite, would be much more badass if hung up while still attached to its uprooted host tree. He settled into the hot tub beneath it with a mug of spiked eggnog and waited. Charles always showed up whenever any member of Dethklok did something stupid; all he had to do was wait. 

Charles entered the room about fifteen minutes later, which Nathan found kind of flattering. He walked in eyeing the suspended tree warily, as though it might fall at any moment, and only glanced down at the front man when he’d reached just a bit closer than minimum safe distance. “Good morning, Nathan. May I, ah, ask what you’re doing?”

Nathan shrugged, stretching both arms out to rest casually along the edge of the hot tub. “Hanging out.” His stomach was doing spins and somersaults, but he was determined to play it cool. 

Charles’ mouth compressed into a thin line—not that Nathan was staring or anything. “Under a tree? Nathan, please. I know you wanted to have some creative control in the decorations this year, but this is very unsafe.”

“Nope.” 

“. . . Excuse me?”

“I’m hanging out,” Nathan explained, “under a tree with _mistletoe_ in it.” He waited a beat. “I’m under the mistletoe.”

At that predetermined signal, a listening Klokateer dimmed the living room lights down to a faint glow, accentuated by flickering candlelight that lit the edges of the cavernous room like low-hanging stars. There were no lower windows, but the upper ones were shuttered to add to the sense of ethereal gloom.

“Ah. . . .” Charles looked around, trying to determine why the light levels were changing, but the Klokateer had already ducked out per Nathan’s instructions. “What’s going on?”

Okay, here it was. Moment of truth. And hey, if it went badly he could always say, _Wasn’t me, it was the mistletoe_ and retreat to his room to get over this crush which would surely be smashed to pieces by robot-like rejection. 

Nathan rose from the hot tub, knowing that the candlelight made his wet skin shine like one of those jacked dudes on the cover of romance novels. He automatically sucked his stomach in a little. “I’m under the mistletoe,” he said again, and his face felt warm but hopefully in the dimness it was hard to tell. “So, uh. That means you have to kiss me.” 

“Kiss. . . ?” Charles started. He trailed off as Nathan took the first step away from the hot tub, black swim trunks dripping softly on the stone floor. 

It was only one more step to reach the man, and Nathan took it. Took him by the shoulders, getting chlorinated water all over Charles’ expensive suit, and pulled him close, all but yanking him into a very self-conscious kiss in which Nathan was totally overthinking what to do with his crappy thin lips, eyes closed in concentration. 

His eyes flew open when he felt Charles grab onto his arms and, instead of pushing him away, held on with completely unexpected strength. It was Charles who took control and deepened the kiss, maneuvering expertly until Nathan’s eyes drifted closed again, forgetting to be self-conscious and just . . . kissing back. 

Fuck. Who knew that Charles would be such a good kisser? _Totally_ worth it. 

“Wow,” Nathan breathed when the kiss ended, their mouths still hovering mere millimeters apart. 

Charles cleared his throat, not moving away either. “I second that. This was, ah, not what I was expecting when I came in here, but, well.” His gaze shifted pointedly towards Nathan’s kiss-bruised lips. “I suppose this sheds a new light on why you were so interested in decorating this Christmas.”

Above them, the hanging tree creaked. They glanced up at it in unison. 

“Would you, ah, like to continue this discussion in my office?”

“. . . Yeah,” Nathan said with a slow grin. “Yeah, let’s do that.” He followed Charles, grabbing a towel along the way to dry off with. 

_Fuck yeah, mistletoe. Worked like a charm._


End file.
